


But Not Yet

by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, F/M, Light Angst, affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't exactly what Belle had in mind when she started dancing for the Red Hearts company in New York. She isn't entirely sure it's what she wants, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Not Yet

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Rumbelle Secret Santa exchange on tumblr.

The flowers are beautiful. The flowers are always beautiful, with their straight stems and glossy petals (stephanotis for luck, orchids for beauty, red roses for passion – he knew roses were her favorite).

 

 _Regina_ is the star. She is the one with her name up in lights, and it is her who the crowds came to see dance; yet it’s Belle who is delivered flowers every night. Sweet, quiet Belle, listed fourth in the program and in a supporting role, who has a secret admirer.

 

The first sight of the bouquet, positioned in front of Belle’s mirror, a card waiting patiently to be plucked from its place among the flowers (there is always a card) is enough for Regina’s lips to purse, her eyes to narrow (Belle has always thought that if Regina knew whom the flowers were from, she might not be so jealous).

 

Belle holds the card in her hand, running her fingers over the gilded front cover. It’s heavy, expensive paper, and she has always warned him that it was this, this excess, this blatant appreciation of expensive things, that will give him away.

 

“Your admirer again?” Ariel coos over Belle’s shoulder.

 

She nods, still cradling the card as if it means to bite her.

 

“Well, go ahead,” says her friend, sitting down at her mirror next to Belle’s. “What does he have to say this time?”

 

Belle opens the card, and reads the printed words.

 

_I ne’er was struck before that hour_

_With love so sudden and so sweet._

_Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower_

_And stole my heart away complete._

_I never saw so sweet a face_

_As that I stood before._

_My heart has left its dwelling place_

_And can return no more._

_-John Clare_

 

“I’ve never heard of that poet before,” Ariel sighs wistfully.

 

“He’s a romantic,” Belle says automatically.

 

“Clearly. That admirer of yours knows how to woo a lady.”

 

“No, I meant the poet,” Belle tries, but Ariel has already turned to answer the question of one of the new girls. It doesn’t matter anyway, not really.

 

Belle rereads the poem. They really are romantic lines.

 

He isn’t fond of poetry himself, she knows, but he doesn’t trust his words when it comes to her. He’d told her that after the first time he fucked her – that he didn’t trust his words. It was best to just use someone else’s.

 

She’s waiting for the day a card comes signed in his distinctive flourish – _R. Gold_ – instead of not signed at all. Or better yet, a confirmation. A request. A meeting spot with a plane ticket. To run away together, soon.

 

He’s told her that, too: soon _._

 

Sighing, Belle sets the card against the mirror. She fingers the long petals of the bouquet. Three times a week, they’re delivered. Always a different arraignment (and she wonders if he’s well versed in the language of flowers. She wonders if he realizes how well versed she herself is. Her father runs a greenhouse, after all. She doesn’t think he knows that).

 

The sharp snapping of fingers draws Belle out of her musing. Ariel and Ashley cease their chatter as the dressing room goes still and quiet.

 

Cora Mills, head and founder of Red Hearts Dance Company enters through the doorway, casting a critical eye around. She walks between the mirrors, weaving in and out through the dancers. Her lip curls slightly, but her face remains otherwise expressionless.

  
“Regina, dear, why aren’t your laces tied? The show is starting soon and you don’t even have your hairpiece in. Really, I expect better. Boyd, those tights have a run in the back. Get to Miss Lucas and exchange them immediately. French,” Cora pauses. “Your costume is looking tight,” she says casually. “Whatever would we do if Jefferson suddenly weren’t able to support your weight, hm? I suppose we’d just have to replace you. It wouldn’t be hard, dear. Heavy girls can’t dance; you’d do well to remember that.” Her eyes flicker to the bouquet. “And wipe that lipstick off. It isn’t proper to advertise your side business onstage.”

 

Belle feels her face heat, but says nothing.

 

“Places in five minutes,” Cora finishes before leaving the room.

 

The minute she’s gone, the chatter and pre-show bustle starts up again, dancers scrambling for their last minute needs.

 

“Hey, don’t listen to her. She’s been on edge all week,” Ariel says softly, running her hand over Belle’s arm encouragingly. “She’s jealous that you’re the one with an admirer and not Regina. Cora’s trying to make you leave, like she did to Mary Margaret.”

 

Belle shakes her head. “I’m staying right here. She doesn’t scare me. Besides, if I left I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

 

Ariel shakes her head. “Of course you’d still see me. But seriously, I heard Mary Margaret got in at the Snow Queen Company in Manhattan,” Ariel says. “Maybe she can put in a good word for you.”

 

Belle raised her eyebrow. “So eager to get rid of me?”

 

“Of course not,” her friend laughs. “I just don’t get why you want to stay so badly, especially when Cora is always picking on you.”

 

“Call it pride. Or stubbornness.”

 

Ariel rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says, taking Belle’s hand. “They’re calling places.”

 

Belle follows her out to the stage. She waits in the wings for her entrance. From the cast of the safety lights she can see Regina fold into herself, getting into position for the opening scene. Beside her, Ariel squeezes her hand.

 

It’s this, this moment that Belle used to live for. The anticipation of a beginning. She isn’t so sure if it’s a beginning that she wants now, though.

 

The curtain rises. The lights come up. The music swells.

 

The show begins.

 

\---

 

They had met by accident. Financial sponsors didn’t meet with the dancers themselves, after all, let alone fall into bed with them. At least, Cora’s financial sponsors never did.

 

Ballet companies rarely made any money off ticket sales, even in New York. With the price of production paired with wages for the dancers and crew, companies were lucky to make it into the black at all.

 

Fortunate then, that Cora Mills had managed to find a man who was not only willing to donate substantial amounts of money to fund her productions, but also owned a theater that he’d rent to her, cheap (Robard Gold owned quite a lot of things).

 

That she was attractive hadn’t hurt. That he had money to spend hadn’t hurt either. Because of this, no one was surprised when they became involved (Belle always wondered what it was he saw in Cora, but that line of thinking made her wonder what it is he sees in _her_ , and she never likes going down that path).

 

Gold insisted that he and Cora had been over for months, if not years, by the time Belle stumbled upon him at one of the numerous after parties for _Giselle._

 

She had seen him drinking alone at the bar. Long hair laced with grey that brushed his shoulders, fine-pressed suit that drew tightly against the line of his shoulders, cane hooked to the wood, waiting to be useful. It was his ring though, the deep blue opal that caught the light, that drew her attention. It glittered like the stage lights did, just smaller.

 

Belle was new to Red Hearts, new to New York. What better place to meet someone than a bar at one in the morning the night of her biggest performance yet (she wasn’t merely in the background anymore; she had a duet in the second act and that was cause for celebration). So she sat down next to him.

 

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked.

 

That made him snort. “I already have one, dearie.”

 

“Maybe you’d like another.”

 

He turned to face her, probably to tell her to bugger off and bother someone else, and their eyes met and she hadn’t meant to stand so close to him, but his eyes were so deep and brown and almost warm that she didn’t regret it.

 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

 

“Perhaps I could use another drink, after all.”

 

“I’m Belle,” she said smiling.

 

“Gold,” he said after a moment.

 

Belle flagged the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having,” she said.

 

Gold raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Straight scotch?”

 

“Perfect. He’ll also take a Mai Tai.”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes,” she smiled at the bartender, waggling her eyebrows.

 

The bartender was unbothered, putting in the order for their drinks in the computer.

 

“You did agree to me buying you a drink.”

 

“I didn’t agree to it being a may tay.”

 

“Mai Tai. And you’ll like it. You look like the sort of person to like rum.”

 

“And how would you know that?”

 

Belle pouted, which caused a muscle to twitch near his nose. “I know you’d much prefer to brood with your whiskey – “

 

“I’m not brooding.”

 

“ – I have to admit, it does give you this mysterious quality – “

 

“Mysterious?”

 

“ – but I don’t like drinking alone. Seeing as how we’re both alone, and since I’m sort of celebrating, tonight deserves to be commemorated with fruity drinks and hard liquor. Respectively.” Belle smiles at the bartender in thanks at their drinks are placed in front of them.

 

“Well I’d hate for a lady such as yourself to be forced to celebrate in solitude,” he said dryly. “What is it you’re celebrating anyway?” He looked at the hurricane glass as if it were a cockroach.

 

Belle laughed. “Tonight was my first big show,” she said, smiling proudly in spite of herself.

 

“An actress, then?”

 

“Oh, no. A dancer.”

 

Gold tensed. Belle didn’t notice; she had taken a large swallow of scotch. She flinched as the amber liquid slid down her throat.

 

“Oh, god that burns.” Her eyes watered, but she saw him take the glass from her hand and slide the Mai Tai over to her.

 

“You’re no fun,” she said around a smile she tried very hard to suppress.

 

“You’re not much of a drinker.”

 

“Some would consider that a good thing,” she said around a cough. She needed a glass of water.

 

“So a dancer. And a new one at that.”

 

“Oh, not a new one,” Belle said, shaking her head. “Just new to the show.”

 

“Was it _Giselle,_ by chance?”

 

“It was, actually,” she said surprised. “Does that mean you saw it?”

 

“I did,” he took a drink. “I’m pretty sure I remember you, too.”

 

“You saw me dance?” she asked. She suddenly felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. She had never been recognized from a show before.

 

“I did.”

 

“What’d you think?”

 

He looked down into her liberated scotch. “You were enchanting,” he muttered.

 

“Robard?”

 

They both turned to see Cora, eyebrow raised and lips pressed in a straight, thin line.

 

“Oh, Miss Mills,” Belle said, trying to bite down her smile. “How was – “

 

“I expect you to be at rehearsal early tomorrow, Miss French,” Cora says silkily, her eyes flashing. “Your brisé was sloppy and your shoulders kept slouching. If you’re going to continue in my company, you have to perform to my expectations, and I expect perfection.”

 

When Belle said nothing, too stunned from the sudden attack to think of anything to say, Cora raised an eyebrow.

 

“I understand,” Belle said quickly.

 

Satisfied, Cora turned her attention to Gold. “Robard,” she purred, drawing closer and stepping between their seats at the bar so she could run a hand up his waistcoat. “It’s getting so late. Let’s retire for the night.”

 

Gold’s eyes shifted to Belle’s, but Cora didn’t miss it. She turned around, feigning surprise. “You’re still here, Miss French?”

 

Belle smiled as politely as she could. She slipped off her seat and slunk away from the bar. She tried to suppress her disappointment that her evening was cut short. She wondered mildly if it could still count as such when it was well past one.

 

What impression did Cora exactly get from friendly drinks at a bar? Belle was surprised to find herself angry at being called out like that.

 

Belle looked back, catching Gold’s eye. She held his gaze for as long as she dared. It wasn’t until she made it home to her tiny apartment that she realized she hadn’t paid for her drinks.

 

The first bouquet of flowers arrived the next day.

 

\---

 

It’s late when she makes it to the hotel. Her overnight bag is slung over her shoulder (they never stay long enough to justify its use, but she brings it anyway) and her hair is in a sloppy ponytail.

 

She knocks on the door, and all too soon she’s facing her admirer.

 

Even now Gold wears a suit, fine-pressed that draws tightly against the line of his shoulders. His hair looks freshly brushed, and he doesn’t have his cane, causing him to lean on the door.

 

“Hey,” he says in greeting. She trudges in when he moves aside. “Let me take your bag.”

 

It’s light enough not to matter to his ankle, so she hands it over.

 

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” he calls, moving deeper into the room. He sets her bag on the chairs near the bed.

 

“Yeah, I grabbed something quick after the show.” Even to her own ears her voice is thick. Belle takes a deep breath, calming herself when Gold makes his way back to her.

 

“You okay?” he asks.

 

Belle thinks about the flowers this man insists on sending her for every show night, Cora’s jibes and jealousy.

 

“It’s been a long day,” she answers.

 

He nods, reaching out to run his hand over her old t-shirt. He’s obviously noticed the lanky sweats she’s wearing instead of her usual skirt. It’s wearing her out, this affair. The show that she’s not appreciated for. Her boss constantly jumping down her throat.

 

“I bought the first book of that series you’ve been going on about. I figured if you wanted to give me a proper introduction, starting there would be most appropriate.”

 

Belle’s lip twitches. “You mean you bought _Pride and Prejudice?”_

 

“Purely for educational purposes, I assure you,” he says, mouth drawing up into a crooked grin.

 

Belle nearly laughs. “For starters, Jane Austen’s novels do not make a series.”

 

“Might as well do,” he mutters, but his eyes stay warm and liquid. “I could read it to you, if you’d like.” He brushes a stray hair behind her ear softly, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

 

He always does this. Even though they meet at a hotel, even though the bed is turned down and there are condoms on the bedside table, he never expects to fuck her. He never just leads her to the bed and throws her down.

 

Instead, he’ll offer a foot massage for her sore feet, or delivery from any restaurant of her choosing, the recent season of a show that she’s wanted to watch. Reading a book that she won’t shut up about. Initiation of any kind is solely up to Belle.

 

She remembers one time they met and she just wasn’t in the mood for sex. Instead of leaving, he stayed up with her, talking and watching cheesy lifetime movies while they curled up together on the bed and he played with the ends of her hair.

 

“Belle?” he asks, when she remains silent.

 

But she’s already moving, already reaching her hands to the lapels of his jacket, already standing on tiptoe so she can press her lips to his.

 

“Later,” she promises against him, her fingers working to undo the knot in his tie.

 

Gold kisses her back, his mouth opening in an invitation. His hands run over her hips, up to her waist, and then back down again. She loves his hands, large and warm and weathered. She moans and they roam over the curve of her ass, gripping her and pulling her hips closer against his.

 

Having pulled his tie from his collar, she starts to unbutton his shirt, moving her kisses along his jaw and down his throat. She pinches one of his nipples when they’re uncovered.

 

He grunts, sliding his hands under the rim of her sweatpants. Leaning his weight on her, he walks them to the bed and sits down heavily on the mattress. One of his hands gently turns her face to his and he kisses her deeply while his other hand pushes her pants down. She kicks them off as she pulls off his shirt.

 

Belle leans back and smiles appreciatively. She plucks at one of his nipples again. “I love looking at you.”

 

He smiles ruefully. “That’s my line.”

 

Belle pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in a plain pair of panties. She smiles at the happy surprise on Gold’s face when he sees that she isn’t wearing a bra.

 

“Yeah,” Gold mutters. “My line.” His mouth latches onto a nipple and he teases her with tongue and teeth. Belle hisses, grinding against his leg, still clothed in his slacks.

 

He slides his fingers up her legs, slipping them in between her panties and her skin. She feels him smile against her when he reaches her cunt; she’s positively dripping for him.

 

“Gold, please.” Belle reaches for his belt buckle, but he bats her hands away.

 

“Let me, sweetheart,” he murmurs before pushing two fingers inside her.

 

She moans, long and deep, her hips jutting forwards against her will. Her hands grip his shoulders, balancing herself while she’s impaled on his fingers. He adds a third and her breath hitches.

 

“Move with me,” he says, placing small bites along her throat. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re beautiful.”

 

Belle moves her hips faster, pleading for him to find that spot deep inside that will let her see stars.

 

“Fuck, please,” she begs, clenching, her fingers biting his skin. “Gold, please.”

 

Gold curls his fingers, rubbing hard against her walls and Belle breaks apart with a gasp.

 

He works her through it, a steady stimulation that keeps her clenching around his fingers. Soon enough she all but collapses against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She kisses the marks her nails made in apology.

 

He rubs her back and he scoots to the headboard, finally giving his back something to lean against.

 

“Does that make up for a long day?” he asks.

 

Belle hums contentedly. “It sure comes close. I can think of something even better, though.” Belle runs her hands over Gold’s chest down to his waist where she finally undoes his buckle.

 

Gold doesn’t stop her, and instead lifts his hips up so she can slide his pants and underwear off. She throws them in a heap on the floor, her panties following soon after.

 

Belle grips his cock, drawing a moan from his chest and a thrust from his hips. She presses forward, kissing Gold deep, drawing his tongue into her mouth and sucking hard.

 

When they break apart, she leans over to pluck a condom from the table. She opens the wrapper as he sits below her, hard and aching, and watches as she slowly rolls the condom on his cock.

 

His breathing is labored but he pulls her up for another kiss before she’s up on her knees, then lowering, filling herself with all of him.

 

“That’s the way to get rid of a shitty day,” she murmurs against his ear and she raises on her knees again, then slowly back down, teasing him.

 

It’s his turn to beg; he can’t get the leverage he needs to thrust like he wants to in this position. The desperation and need that paints Gold’s face makes Belle smile. She moves her hips in a figure eight, grinding against him, and he whimpers. His hand that’s not gripping her hip is between her legs, searching for the bundle of nerves that might convince her to move faster.

 

When he finds it, her hips jut, and she clenches hard.

 

“Fuck, Belle,” he says before he flips them over. Belle’s on her back and she moans when Gold draws both her knees up to her shoulders. He thrusts into her hard and desperate. “Fuck,” he mutters, pressing closer. “You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking tight.”

 

Belle’s hands travel over his shoulders, down his back, before moving to his ass, gripping in encouragement.

 

“Touch yourself for me,” Gold says now. “I want you to touch yourself, I want you to come around my cock.”

 

She finds her clit, pressing down in time with Gold’s fast pace. She whimpers when he hits that spot inside her. “Right there,” she breaths. She groans as the wave of climax goes through her, body clamping down hard, bringing on his own orgasm.

 

Gold finishes deep, giving her sloppy kisses all along her jaw and cheeks. He lets go of her legs, moves them down slowly. He collapses to the side of her, pulling off the condom and stuffing it into a wad of tissues before reaching out and pulling her close as soon as he hits the bed.

 

When sweat has cooled on their naked bodies, Gold draws up the sheets. Belle hardly notices; she is positively wrapped around him, her legs deliciously sore. She can feel his heartbeat fluttering in his chest against her ear. The hotel room stills as they lay there.

 

“Would you leave her if I asked? Would you leave her for me?” she whispers after a time, afraid to disturb their peace.

 

He doesn’t even hesitate. “In a heartbeat.”

 

“Then let’s do it. Let’s run away together.”

 

“Oh, Belle…”

 

“What’s stopping us?” When he doesn’t answer, she sits up, the sheets pooling to her hips, leaving them both bare from the waist up. His eyes are closed, but she runs her hand against his temple, through his hair. He finally meets her gaze. “Really, what’s keeping us from packing up and leaving right this moment?”

 

“She’ll blacklist you. You’ll never dance again.”

 

“Maybe I don’t want to dance anymore.”

 

“Sweetheart, you can’t give up your passion. Not for me.”

 

“But –“

 

“It’s too much for an old fool, darling. Far too much.” His hand moves to brush a wayward curl behind her ear, but she sits up straighter, out of his reach.

 

“You don’t get to decide how much is too much. Not for me.”

 

“Belle…”

 

“I love you, Gold, but I’m so tired of being the other woman.”

 

“You’re not the other woman, Belle,” he insists.

 

“Then run away with me,” she pleads.

 

“What would we do? Where would we go?”

 

“Anywhere. All the way to California if we have to, or London or Paris. You could practice law again.”

 

“And what about you, darling?”

 

“I could open my own company. Teach little kids to dance,” she says, smiling wistfully. “Or find work in a library. I do love my books.”

 

“That does sound wonderful.” He sighs deep and heavy, and Belle knows she’s lost again. She can see it in his chest; he’s emptied himself. “Maybe someday.”

 

Belle swallows the disappointment that sits bitter in her mouth. She shivers in the cold air of the hotel room, but she doesn’t lay back down with him. Instead she brushes his hair from his forehead. Cups his cheek, already going rough with stubble.

 

Gold leans into her touch and closes his eyes.

 

“Soon, then?” Belle asks quietly.

 

“Soon.”

 


End file.
